Tick Tock
by christiandior
Summary: He let out a mirthless laugh. "You really think you can change me? Train me like a little puppy and put me on a leash to listen to your every command?" He twisted both her hands behind her back and brought his lips to her ear. "The last time someone tried that shit with me sweetheart, I killed everyone they loved before their very eyes." He rasped. "And I didn't feel a thing."
1. Chapter 1

Hermione walked through the crowded corridor with brisk steps, clutching the worn out Potions textbook, some paper and a quill that she had managed to nab, between her arms. After waking up slightly disoriented this morning she had willed herself to immediately fit into the flow of things. She had a limited amount of time after all.

 _Find him._

 _Fuck with him._

 _Finish him._

Hermione repeated the mantra over and over in her head.

She came to a stop in front of the classroom and took in a deep breath. What if he was there? Should she look him the eyes and try to establish a connection or should she pay him no heed and walk towards a seat? Should she sit near him or far away? _Every_ tiny detail mattered.

Tom Marvolo Riddle was alas, a beast of a complexity. A tiger who would either let her into his den or tear her to shreds in seconds. One wrong move with him and it could very well cost her her life. All their lives. Her heart lurched at the thought of her friends.

The cool air from chamber greeted her, providing some relief from the blistering heat outside. The room was dimly lit and from the quick scan of the class she was certain that he hadn't walked in yet.

 _You'd think the infamously perfect Head Boy would be in class already._

She picked a seat in the middle of the class and began to settle in when she received a quick tap on her shoulder.

"Excuse me, this is my seat"

Hermione jumped at the words and found herself to be face to face with a slender brunette. Her hair was primly set into a plait, not a single hair out of place. Uniform was regulation length, crisp and clean. Her mouth was twisted into a grimace like she had sucked on a lemon and she looked at the annoyance down the length of her sharp pointed nose.

"Apologies, I'm new and thought this seat was free", said Hermione

The girl's demeanor changed at once. Her quick brown eyes flitted to Hermione's plain black robes and lack of tie and pieced it together.

"You must be Hermione Blackwood, the student from Romania. Ahh yes yes, Professor Dippet filled me in on you last night…must've slipped my mind. I'm Minerva McGonagall, the Head Girl. Pleasure to make your acquaintance." She extended her hand in greeting.

Hermione knew she would come across young McGonagall at some point but she still wasn't prepared. She discreetly wiped her sweaty palm on her robe and shook her hand. In her heart she said a prayer to whoever was listening. Minerva would make a good friend and ally, if there was anyone who could sniff out what Riddle got up to and help her it was her.

"The seat next to me is free. Please, you can sit here." She signaled to the empty chair as began to set up her own books.

When they were seated, Minerva turned towards Hermione.

"Are you all settled in the guest chambers? Any problems?"

"None at all thank you. Every thing is fine." Hermione folded her hands in her lap.

Minerva plucked Hermione's class schedule from the desk and compared it with her's.

"We have the same classes. Perhaps you should stick by me for today." She twirled the quill in her hand. "Thats only if you haven't already made some friends already of course, I understand that the school can be confusing with for a newcomer"

Hermione deciphered the look on her face. Minerva was seeking her company as much as she was hers. She nodded.

"I'd love that."

Minerva gave a full toothed grin.

Hermione and Minerva continued chatting on about their classes and professors when she saw him. A flash of silver blonde hair and the smug smile. Her heart stopped a beat.

Minerva turned in the direction Hermione was looking in to see what had caused her to abruptly stop in the middle of their conversation. Her face took on the sour look again.

"That's Abraxas Malfoy. An absolute arse and pureblooded bigot. I'd stay out of his way, he's definitely not worth the headache you'll experience after interacting with him."

"Abraxas…" Hermione repeated under her breath.

 _Not Draco._

 _Not Draco._

Behind Abraxas Malfoy were three other boys decked out in Slytherin robes.

Hermione was fairly certain who this gang of gentlemen were.

"That's Tom Riddle's - the Headboy's - little posse by the way" said Minerva disdainfully. "The one on the right with the messy hair is Theodore Nott, thinks of himself as quite the charmer, personally I don't see the appeal. The one on the left is Antonin Dolohov he seems a bit…peculiar to me, never had a straight conversation with him to be quite honest. And the one in the back is the most civil and humane of the lot of them, Edmund Lestrange. No one really understands why he chooses to accompany the likes of them." Minerva gave her head a little shake.

The boys came down to the front of the classroom, laughing at something Malfoy had said. They chose the desks right behind Hermione and Minerva's.

And their attention soon turned towards them.

"And how are you this fine morning Minnie?" remarked Abraxas. His chin was rested on his hand, a lazy mischievous look in his signature Malfoy grey eyes. Upon closer examination Hermione could see how his appearance contrasted with Draco's. While Draco had his hair slicked back severely, Abraxas' looked soft and clean and fell into his eyes. His features were softer and _open_ unlike the stoic, steely look that often graced Malfoys.

"Do not call me that Abraxas." gritted Minerva.

Theodore Nott was the first to notice Hermione.

"And who do we have here…" His eyes carried out a predatory scan: her hair, eyes, lips, lingering at her chest, where his lips curled into a wicked smile and his brown eyes glinted. Malfoy let out a low whistle. He raised his hand in greeting.

"Theodore Nott. Pleasure to meet you."

 _Wish I could say the same for you._

"Hermione Blackwood." He didn't let go of her hand.

"You're a new face around here. There's _no way_ such beauty could have been hidden from me." Edmund sitting next to him rolled his eyes.

 _Oh he is a big flirt._

She let out a forced laugh.

"You're right, I'm a new student from Romania. Today is my first day."

Abraxas' eyebrows rose. "Joining Hogwarts in the last year, is that even possible?"

"It is if you're the Headmaster's niece." She gave a shrug.

At that moment the front classroom doors opened and came in Horace Slughorn. Dressed in over the top lavish dark green robes, his round pink face tight and wrinkle free. He stepped in front of his cluttered desk and addressed the class.

"Good morning ladies and gents. Welcome to your first class in your final year at Hogwarts." He clapped his hands. "This year is your last chance, your saving grace, to prepare yourself for the brutal and uncaring world that lies outside these school walls." A pause. "Use it to the very best of your ability."

With that message he snapped out of his serious demeanor and surveyed the classroom.

"Bertha, you've lost weight good good…John I heard about your grandmother, so sorry for your loss…Edmund, the new haircut suits you…Tom- where's Tom?" His eyes squinted.

I _ndeed, Where_ was _Tom Riddle._

"Professor, Tom is with the Headmaster he got called in earlier this morning." provided Minerva.

"Ah yes yes, of course its the first day of the Academic Year he must have a lot to attend to."

Hermione wondered whether others saw how let down he looked. After finding out the backstory between the two she knew how much Horace had loved Riddle like a son. She wouldn't be surprised if he lost enthusiasm to teach halfway through the lesson.

But Slughorn proceeded with the rest of the class and Hermione participated enthusiastically, answering whatever question he threw at the class. If she wanted to play with Tom Riddle she had to stand out from the rest.

"Careful there Minnie, looks like your Supreme Nerd crown might be in danger." Abraxas whispered from the back.

Hermione was facing major Deja Vu. Horace looked at her exactly the way he did back in their sixth year, a look of awe on his face. He asked her her family name, she replied Blackwood. He face scrunched up for a moment and then connected her to the famous Romanian Blackwood's, inventors of the Firebolt and several other Quidditch gear pieces. Hermione managed a nervous smile as several of her classmates looked in her direction.

 _This is good, this is what you want._

With that, class concluded and everyone made their way out. Hermione and Minerva slung their bags over their shoulders and walked into the hallway. From the corner of her eye, Hermione caught Edmund staring at her, he immediately turned the other way.

"You were _bloody_ brilliant in there" praised Minerva. "Where did you study before?"

"I was home schooled, I just like to read. A lot."

Minerva's eyes shone with glee "Me too."

They were headed towards one of the benches when a prefect named Clarence came to Minerva with a note. She thanked her and read it quickly.

"Its about your sorting ceremony." Her eyes lifted to Hermione's "Its going to take place in fifteen minutes in the Headmasters Office."

She folded up the note and tucked it in her pocket. "I have prefect's meeting in ten minutes just here." She twisted her hands. "I don't want to leave you alone-"

"Absolutely no worries, I've been there last night I know where it is I can go on my own." Hermione interjected.

Minerva gave a nod. "See you for Charms then."

"See you."

With that Hermione took off in the direction of the office

 _Where Tom Riddle would be._


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Tom Riddle rubbed his aching forehead as he sat slouched in an armchair in front of the fireplace in the Headmaster's Office. Dippet had called him in at five in the _fucking_ morning to help set up a _stupid_ buddy system for the first years.

He'd woken up after a meagre four hours of disturbed sleep only to be surrounded with cheery, boisterous eleven year olds as he spent the next hour pairing them up with fifth years.

And each time one of them threw a tantrum, demanding to be re-paired he resisted the to urge to grab them up by their skinny little necks and squeeze the life out of them until their chubby faces turned purple-blue and their eyes popped out of their sockets. Instead he ruffled their hair, pulled their cheeks and told them in an carefully measured tone that the lists were final.

Gods, he hated children.

You see, Tom Riddle could duel on for hours on end, he could study on for days without a break but _nothing_ drained him both mentally and physically like putting on his facade. Over the years, he had perfected the art of wearing the Mask—the sweet, caring orphan boy who was deeply concerned about everyone's well being— the trouble however was maintaining it. The Mask was the appealing smooth chocolate coating on a bitter piece of fruit—which tended to melt away in heated situations.

It often felt like he was leading a double life, one in front of everyone and the other when he was behind closed doors, down in the dungeons.

Now he sat with pile of papers in his lap filled with chunky details about annual events that he was steadily going through for the past hour. Tom loathed all this bullshit. He could not give less of a fuck about tournaments, and competitions— he gave a small laugh—like _any_ of these thick-headed idiots would ever be able to find real glory outside the walls of this playhouse. His lips turned upwards.

 _I guess that's why they love these so much._

He got up and stretched his limbs, massaged the knots at the base of his neck and walked towards the desk. Rifling through the top drawer he found the new student's sheet. Dippet had told him and Minerva after the feast last night that his niece would be joining Hogwarts starting tomorrow morning and that her sorting would take place separately. He rolled out the parchment and began to read.

 _Student name: Hermione Jean Blackwood_

 _Date of Birth: September 19th, 1926_

 _Place of Origin: Romania_

 _Previous schooling: —_

His eyebrows rose to his hairline at that last specification, and the gears in his head began to turn. He knew that there were plenty of wizarding schools around the world Castelbruxo, Uagadao, Ilvermorny, Beauxbatons— not to mention Durmstang which should have been her first choice for schooling seeing where she came from. His face scrunched up in thought, he didn't even know that the Dippet's had their roots in Romania as well.

He had heard of home schooled students entering in Years four and five—but _seven_? How would she even cope with the workload in the _final year_ of Hogwarts when she hadn't even been to _fucking school_.

 _What the fuck._

He continued reading.

 _Student Assessment:_

 _Despite being home schooled, student is of exceptional intelligence, with high performance displayed in Charms, Transfiguration, Potions, Arithamancy and History of Magic with above average performance in Defense against the Dark Arts, all taught throughout the course of 6 years at par with Hogwarts. Dueling skills are at peak execution. Student is a quick learner, able to grasp concepts rapidly and carry them out efficiently. She is more than capable of proceeding into 7th year of study at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry._

Tom gripped the parchment tighter. His brain was buzzing with so, so many questions.

This girl was setting off all his alarms.

He braced his arms at the corners of the desk. Tom made it his business to know _everything_ about everybody simply because he did not like _not knowing_. He might've hated this bloody school and all the imbeciles in it but he knew everything about those in his vicinity.

 _Knowledge is the greatest power after all._

And the fact that a walking talking puzzle was walking in did not please him at all. This was a crucial year for him and the future that he had planned for himself. He twisted the ring on his forefinger. The last thing he needed to do was to waste precious time unravelling her.

He heard the swiveling of the steps to the office, quickly dropping the parchment where he found it, he stood to side of the of the desk. Came in Headmaster Armando Dippet, a tall well built man who carried himself with immense grace and power for someone of 70 years. He was dressed in exquisite blue robes, his beard was short and pearl white, oval glasses rested on his hooked nose.

"Ah Tom, I wager you're already done with the event calendar?"

And comes on the Mask.

"Yes professor, I have also taken the liberty to write down names of prefects who I think would be fit for each event and suggested venues as well."

Dippet rested his hand on Tom's shoulder, pride shining through his eyes. "Where would this school be without you…"

Tom gave a shy nod and looked down.

He walked behind his desk and sat down. In an almost robotic manner, he pulled out Hermione's sheet and set it before him. He joined his hands by the fingertips in front of himself.

"Now my niece must be coming in any moment and after the sorting I would like you to show her around the school," he waved a hand. "Get her familiar with it all."

Just bloody fantastic.

"It would be my pleasure."

Tom faltered a little but went ahead. "Professor, If you don't mind me asking, I've heard about how your niece is home schooled— and being your niece she of course possesses exceptional talent but—its just that, its unheard of for a student to join in the final year."

Dippet looked up from his paperwork.

"You are right. She is a witch of magnificent talent." His tone was final and indicated that he wasn't open to discuss this topic.

 _Fuck fuck I shouldn't have asked that._

Dippet was usually more than happy to divulge information to Tom. He had considered him a confidant several times in the past.

 _Then why not for this…_

The stairs swiveled again and Tom trained his sight towards the entrance like a hawk. Soft footsteps echoed, and a knock on the door. And walked in the thorn in Tom Riddle's side, a petite timid-looking brunette.

OOO

Hermione's blood drew cold. Tom Riddle was standing right there staring at her like she'd just destroyed one of his horcruxes in front of his eyes.

"Come in Hermione. How was your first class, make any new friends?"

She walked in, avoiding eye contact with him, and seated herself in the visitor's chair. Tom's six foot frame still stood to the side like a pillar, wafting disdain. His gaze burning through her.

No, not unnerving at all.

"It was great uncle. I met Minerva, she was very nice to me.", she said in a cheery tone.

Dippet gestured towards Tom. "Since you've met the Head girl, meet the Head boy—Tom Riddle."

When Dippet looked towards Tom his face took on the most warmest, welcoming smile.

"Pleasure to meet you." His deep voice dripped sincerity.

Of course, Hermione knew that this boy was anything _but_ sincere.

"Likewise."

When they shook hands, his large and rather cold hand engulfed her smaller one, a shiver ran up her spine when she felt the thick metal band of the ring against her palm. The Gaunt Ring. Gods, she hoped she had made it here in the nick of time and this _psycho_ hadn't already started splitting his soul left and right.

"I think we should go ahead with the sorting ceremony uncle." Hermione suggested.

"Yes—yes of course. Tom, be a lad and fetch the Hat."

The Sorting Hat was brought and the queasy feeling in Hermione's stomach grew into a tight knot. She had gone over and over the plan the way here.

"Ahhh, a new student…all right then, lets get you sorted." the Hat declared. It cleared his throat and opened his mouth.

"No, no need for the song. Let's—lets just get to it." Hermione interrupted.

Riddle's eyes narrowed at her.

"Well, all right then. It really is great though, you're missing out." the Hat huffed.

Dippet placed the Sorting Hat. "Let's have a look in that head of yours."

As soon as the words were spoken, Hermione she let loose the reel of memories she had put together in her mind. Flashes and glimpses of events that had brought her into this current situation. Voldemort and the Death Eaters arriving at Hogwarts, the battle, the deaths, her bloodied hands twisting the time tuner as she blinked away the tears and landing outside Hogwarts—50 years back.

 _Tom Riddle is going to become Lord Voldemort. He is going to destroy us all and I've come to stop him._

The Hat was absolutely still and quiet for what seemed like an eternity.

"This is by far, the hardest one I've ever come across." it spoke in a low voice.

The Sorting had been placed in a rather precarious and demanding plight. Usually accustomed to peeking into a student's head and just matching their personality traits with the appropriate house, the Hat had just now peeked at the _future_ and had to match her with the best House to complete her task. The silence droned on.

Hermione's face felt hot and sweat beaded on her forehead, she dug her nails into her palm. Her heartbeat thrummed loudly in her ears.

Tom's eyes flicked rapidly from the Hat to her face, a perplexed look on his face.

And then the Sorting Hat finally spoke, its voice without the strong declaratory tone it usually possessed.

"Slytherin."

OOO

After that little exposition in the office, Riddle's brain felt like it had fire ants crawling every millimeter of it. It was itching and burning with questions. And the answers to all of them were with the pint-sized girl walking a few inches away from him. And oh did he enjoy extracting information from un-willing people.

 _Time to start the inquisition._

"So how are you finding the people of Hogwarts? Do we surpass the Romanians?" A smile in voice as he glanced towards her.

She kept her gaze straight ahead, apparently finding the dimly lit empty corridor more interesting than him. It bothered him, he preferred to be looked in the eye when spoken to.

"I haven't spent enough time here to be able to tell." she gave a shrug.

"Which school are you coming in from?"

She continued to avoid his gaze.

"I'm home schooled."

"So then why join a school in the final year?"

She was quiet for a beat.

"Ministries and other places requires certification for jobs. I'm here to get mine."

 _No, you're not. You're lying._

"Why not go a school in the first place if you're just going to study the same things at home for six years." He fired back.

She stopped in her tracks and faced him. He liked that.

"How do _you_ know I studied the same things for six years?"

He braced himself by the shoulder against the wall.

"Professor Dippet showed me your Assessment form."

"Thats confidential."

He moved one step towards her.

"Not to the Head Boy, it isn't"

One step more and then another and just like that he had her backed to the wall like a helpless little sheep. He braced his palm above her head and leaned in near her ear.

"You know what I find the most— _thought-provoking_ , Miss Blackwood? We've been talking for so long now and not _once_ has your Romanian accent slipped in during the conversation." He could not keep the glee out of his voice. "What an _exceptional_ hold you must have on it."

Hermione looked up at him, fear evident in her glassy brown eyes.

She ducked under his arm and took off.

He watched her leave with narrowed eyes. Tucked his hands into his pockets and walked back in the opposite direction, whistling a soft tune.

 _ **A/N: Please review, they're my fuel :)**_


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

The young boy on the floor writhed in bone-breaking pain as another curse hit the centre of his body. His skin was now purple-blue, veins popping up on the expanse of his arms and thick gulps of blood spilled from his mouth onto the shiny black marble floor. He gave one last blood-curdling scream—inaudible due to the silencing charm placed on him—as his glassy hazel eyes rolled to the back of his head. One last wave of tremors went through his frail frame and he went still.

"Abraxas, I told you to bring me a stronger one this time. Pray tell, _what_ was so hard to understand about that simple instruction." Tom slowly twirled the pale wand between his hands whilst he lounged comfortably on a sofa in front of the body.

Abraxas wiped his sweaty palms at the sides of his robes. Witnessing Tom's _unwinding sessions—_ as he referred to them—always managed to unnerve him to the highest degree. "He—He was the strongest we could find, he's a beater on the Ravenclaw Quidditch team."

Edmund who stood to the side leaning against a pillar had watched the whole ordeal with a look of point blank disinterest, finally spoke up. "You went harder than usual today Tom. You might have crossed the limit."

"But I didn't. And I don't need _you_ reminding me of my limits Edmund, I'm _quite_ well aware of them." Tom sneered.

"Tom, darling, _not again_ …you made this one leak all over the floor. Ugh, the last one left behind stains _for weeks._ " Druella Black moaned as she walked into the Slytherin common rooms. Her face wore an expression of blatant disgust as she lifted up the hem of her robes and side stepped past the body—without paying it a second glance—and settled with a huff into Tom's lap, looping her fair slender arms around his neck.

Tom's eyes flashed with a definite warning as he pushed her hands away. "I am _not_ in the mood right now Druella."

Druella Black, though brave enough to approach Riddle openly, did not dare test his set boundaries. She had quickly—and _quite painfully_ discovered that patience was not one of the virtues he had been greatly endowed with. She let out a miserable whine like a kicked puppy, got up and slowly moved away. "You don't have _any_ time for me these days. Its always this or that with you. You haven't even come up to my room in weeks, a girl has needs—"

" _Druella._ Go upstairs and go to bed _now_." Tom gritted his teeth.

Abraxas and Edmund watched as Druella turned red in the face—her now puffy cheeks and long, swaying ebony curls making her look like a life size angry doll. She whisked around and with purposely loud steps ascended the stairs leading to the girls dormitory.

"Well, are you two waiting for a formal invitation? A parade perhaps? Clean this mess up." Riddle got up and waved nonchalantly at the body which had gone dangerously pale by now.

Abraxas hurried forward while Edmund walked at a casual pace. Both of them had a routine which they carried out mechanically: Abraxas would mutter a cleaning charm up to wipe all the blood away from the floors and clean the body while Edmund would check the vitals of the victim and mutter a few healing spells to close wounds and mend minor cracks. But this time though Abraxas carried out his half of the job, Edmund crouched completely still—his face drawn in immense concentration, fingers pressed tight against the boy's pulse point.

"He's dead. You killed him." He announced, monotone.

Abraxas' wand fell out of his hands and he gulped. "Oh _fuck_ no, please."

Edmund's words snapped Tom from his reverie. The other two moved out of his way as he crouched down quickly and checked for a pulse himself. First in the wrist, then the neck and lastly the chest—not a single faint beat. The body had gone completely cold.

Tom ran a hand roughly through his hair. He had just broken one of his own sacred rules. "If you two _idiots_ would have stepped in right after I was done, this wouldn't have happened."

"But you told us not to move until you tell us to." Abraxas voiced weakly.

"How very fucking convenient of you to be a stickler to that rule Abraxas." Tom growled.

Most muggle machines are installed with a backup system, a type of autopilot, that takes charge when things go haywire. It temporarily disables all parts and takes over until system stability is reached once again.

Tom Riddle was built like a machine.

When he messed up—which he _rarely_ ever did—instead of going through the phase of panicking and fumbling, like any normal person would before they came up with a rushed solution, Tom's psyche would immediately kick itself into autopilot. And just like that his anger and guilt would fade away, his hands would stop jittering and he would zero in on the problem at hand. This man was made only to function at maximum efficiency.

And so Tom Riddle carefully assessed the situation. The gears in his head turning, his steely eyes narrowed at the dead body. He rolled up his sleeves.

Riddle took out his wand, which glowed gold, as he muttered a spell—an illusioning charm that would hide any traces of his magic on the body as well as fingerprints.

He then brought his fist up and slammed it down with immense force on the right side of the boy's ribcage.

And again.

Once more.

The loud _crunch_ of bones shattering punctuated the deadly silence.

"He's gone _mental._ " Abraxas breathed.

Tom— now completely oblivious to his surroundings— carried out the same action on the left side of the ribcage. He moved down the body and delivered the same damage to both the knees until the distinct sound of shattering knee caps was heard. He got up, eyes still on the body and drops of sweat matting his dark hair onto his forehead.

"Abraxas, go and get me two broomsticks and meet us at the balcony on the first floor." His voiced was low and controlled.

A pale faced, shock-stricken Abraxas immediately rushed upstairs to to the boys dormitory to grab his and Edmund's broomsticks.

"Edmund, go and make sure the corridors are clear." Tom flicked his wand and the body rose into the air.

Edmund nodded and headed out, still trying to piece together what the fuck Riddle was trying to accomplish here.

Tom walked up the stairs to the first floor, his hands behind his back and with an immense sense of calm—like there was't a dead body floating just a couple of steps behind him. He had picked the corridor which he was to be patrolling tonight and as expected, not a murmur could be heard.

The night was cool and the sky starry. Abraxas and Edmund stood tense against the railing, whispering amongst themselves, moonlight shining on their backs. They whipped around when they heard him enter.

Tom was still eerily calm, a perfect poker face placed on.

"Both of you, get on the broomsticks. You're going to deposit the body right in the middle of the Forbidden Forest. Don't put _a single_ finger on it." He stressed. "I've put a charm on the body, take your wands out and just guide it along with you."

Riddle turned to Edmund. "When you leave the body, perform the spell _Masemerta,_ it'll remove the trace of the charm." He rolled his neck and with a swish of his wand brought the body forward.

Abraxas and Edmund stood still for moment before his words registered in. They climbed onto their broomsticks and took their wands out—the body now floating between them. And with simultaneous soft kicks they took off together.

Tom watched with a fixated gaze as the two rode swiftly across the shadowed grounds and the body followed. With a couple of minutes they disappeared within the the thicket of trees. Tom had put together his plan meticulously. By wiping away all traces of his magic he had erased all the tracks leading to him. He had chosen to fly the body into the forest instead of hiding it in the castle or dragging it through, for the best concealment and an easily decipherable cause of death.

His fists clenched by his side, this was the most precarious part of the plan—anything going wrong at this stage could cost him severely.

 _Surely they were competent enough to not fuck this up._

Tom's heart thumped loudly in his ears as he waited for them to emerge. He checked his watch, 11:15. It had been eight minutes since they had went in. He paced across the balcony, hands behind his back in fists, keeping his eyes trained on the night skyline.

His breath left his lungs in a large exhale when he spotted them shoot up from the forest on their broomsticks. They rode much faster in their return and were landing on the balcony in under a minute. Abraxas had turned pale as milk and his face took on a ghostly appearance in the moonlight, his fair hair windblown. Edmund wore a look of expertly concealed irritation, making him look only slightly agitated.

"We did what you said." Edward stated, running a hand haphazardly through his hair. "Didn't touch him, performed the spell. Left the body in a clearing."

Tom's body relaxed at the words and rubbed his temples. "Good. We should all go to bed now, its been a rather _taxing_ night."

"Don't you even want to know the boy's name?" Edmund asked, an edge to his voice.

Tom levied him with his gaze. "The less I know about him the better."

And just like that he turned around and headed towards the Head's Dormitories. He heard Abraxas and Edmund heading back down into the dungeons— Abraxas' panicked whispering and Edmund's cool interjections.

Riddle reached the entrance to the Head's Dormitory, his demeanor still perfectly calm and collected.

"Good evening Tom, how was your day today? Your patrol lasted longer tonight than usual." Asked the Sir Patrick—the incredibly nosey, white haired wizard in the painting.

Tom gave an easy smile. "My day was splendid Sir Patrick. I was deep in thought and lost track of time while patrolling tonight."

"Yes that often happens. With a mind as strong as yours I'm not surprised. Uh, you must be wanting to rest now—password?"

"Dragons Duel."

The painting swung aside and Tom made his way in. The living area was dark—Minerva had punctually gone to bed at eleven and so he tiptoed his way into his own rooms.

He clicked open the lock and his legs carried him straight to bed. As soon as he sunk into the soft mattress the pressure and tiredness that he had been holding at bay for so long began to set into his body like a wave —from his forehead all the way to his toes. A light pain of a headache throbbed behind his eyes. Tom Riddle might've been the smartest and strongest wizard of his age but he was still a boy. A boy who still hadn't learned how to hold back the exhaustion—he made a mental note to find a way to work it out of his system later.

He was then struck felt a fresh wave of guilt, deep in his heart.

Not guilt for killing a young boy _oh no_ , but for doing it erratically and without due preparation. That was not the way he worked, his work was always planned out and foolproof—he had gone against his own ethos today. And more importantly he had also broken one of his most sacred rules: no killing within the school's boundaries.

Tom spited himself for losing control and vowed to never let a repeat of his behavior happen again. As he drifted off to sleep he silently cursed the thing that appeared in his mind's eye that had _caused_ his foul mood—a pretty puzzle with bushy brown hair and sharp eyes.

OOO

Hermione laid curled up in her bed in the guest chambers. The encounter with Riddle this morning had sent her reeling.

She didn't have much time to put together a good cover after landing in this time. She had hoped that it would suffice, that Riddle would not even care to divulge himself into a matters of a new student but she had _greatly_ underestimated just how observant he was of the people around him.

Hermione had also convinced herself that she would able to match him in a conversation if he started asking questions but _Merlin_ had she been wrong. She'd crumbled under his short onslaught—and this had been only on the beginning of his suspicion. Panic set into her nerves when she thought about what Riddle would do if she rose them up too much.

She kept replaying how he had looked down at her when he had her cornered in the hallway. The feral grin on his face that bared his teeth, the dangerous kind of mirth is his eyes and the way his body radiated sheer _power_ made hers feel small and weak. In those few moments he was completely and utterly bared to her and in his element—she had had a glimpse of the monster in the making.

And it was that—and not his question—which sent her running.

She had retreated to the bathroom to fix her appearance and regain her calm before heading for Charms. Minerva had been put out when she heard that Hermione was sorted into Slytherin and voiced that she just had a _feeling_ that Hermione was meant for Gryffindor.

They had spent the rest of the day chatting in between classes about Hogwarts. Hermione steering the conversation away from her personal life by asking as many questions as she could. Minerva had also gladly given her a mini-tour of the school. But throughout it all Hermione was in a sense of concealed shock.

Curtesy of Tom Riddle.

By the end of the day she had decided to retire early to the guest chambers choosing to skip dinner, claiming fatigue. A worried Minerva had suggested she go to the infirmary but on request had dropped her off at the guest chambers.

Hermione felt the heavy chain round her neck—cold to the touch. She brought out the time turner from under her shirt clutched tightly in her palm, glowing a faint gold against her fingers. At the sight of it, tears flooded her eyes and in that blurred vision she saw Harry and Ron's faces when she let go of their hands. She choked back a sob against the pillow.

 _I will destroy this son of a bitch._

 _I will would get back to them._

She repeated the sentences like a holy verse again again until sleep took her and the image of Riddle's dead face faded away.


End file.
